Uncle Jim

I hear the old songs on the radio like Distant drums,
you can find yourself humming along whatever comes;
a tune reminds us of a certain time, usually good,
we elaborate, dress it up - as only we really could.

Maybe we were eighteen again, the world our oyster,
stored memories, precious, the beauty we remember;
'So won't you marry me, why not stay awhile . . . . . .'
hmmm . . . .. if we had it all again, we wouldn't change a thing.

'Suddenly, life has new meaning to me . . . . ... . . . . '
'there's beauty up above,' What century is that dad?'
My reverie is broken, now I'm reduced to a hum, 
ne'er mind, we do our thing - his turn will come  . . . . !

'I love you because you understand me, every little thing
you try to do, no matter what the world may say about me  . . . . '